There's Irony In An Old Store's Wane

WHELAN

January 05, 1992|by FRANK WHELAN, The Morning Call

"I don't have to believe it if I don't want to."

Those words by novelist John O'Hara, when he heard of the death of his friend, composer George Gershwin, came into my mind the other day when I heard that H. Leh and Company was selling its downtown store.

I have to admit I was not always a fan of Leh's. When I first came to the Lehigh Valley about a decade ago, I quickly fell into the thinking of my generation. Leh's was dowdy, a place where only old ladies shopped. It was out of fashion and hopelessly backward.

I joined in the laughter when everyone called its restaurant -- the 1850s Room, with its Eisenhower era decor -- the "1950s Room." As the smart ones knew, there was nothing in Leh's worth buying.

Then one day it happened. It was at Christmastime about five years ago. I was downtown looking for a special gift. On impulse I wandered into Leh's. Then I saw it. A stylish men's sweater, and at a very reasonable price. I couldn't believe my luck.

I took it over to a clerk. She seemed to really care about my selection and was politeness itself. On that December afternoon, Leh's made a positive impression that cut through the old prejudices and stereotypes. What was wrong with shopping with old ladies, anyway?

Since that day, I had other reasons to like Leh's. After being snubbed by a snotty lamp clerk in another local store, I went to Leh's. Here I was greeted by a kind person who found exactly what I was looking for. She seemed pleased to help me and wanted to make sure I was happy with my purchase. Once more it was a joy to shop there.

But the problem with Leh's downtown was sadly clear to me this Christmas. This big store, which should have been filled with people,

was nearly empty. Even the old ladies, Lord love them, were not about in any numbers. The wonderful person who wrapped my presents (her joy in making bows was clear) admitted she had been waiting for days for this chance to wrap a package.

It was not always this way. In 1850, young John Henry Leh, deciding that career options in his current job as mule boy on the Lehigh Canal were limited, started what was to become Leh's. It was a shoemaking shop that landed contracts to make boots for the Union Army in the Civil War. From there they branched off into dry goods. Getting "rigged out" -- as one 19th century source put it -- at Leh's was required.

Rich and respected, John Henry Leh died in 1910. By then his children and in-laws, the Koch family, saw a need for change. They updated Leh's. The store reopened in 1912 as a commercial powerhouse that survived war and depressions. Customer loyalty was the key to Leh's success.

Clearly, department stores are not charitable institutions. The law of the marketplace has decided. Loyalty, tradition, even the future of Allentown itself give way before it.

With the departure of Lehigh Portland Cement for the suburbs and the continued hemorrhage of small business, Hamilton Mall feels the stress when a spendthrift era of borrowing is followed by one of huge debts. Not even the entrepreneurial energy of hard-working Koreans can fill all of those empty places.

It's sad when families like the Lehs and Kochs, whose splendid history in business and public service has been so long tied to this community, reach a decision like this.

As recently as 1976, Leh's partner, Jack Leh, told The Morning Call he had no fear of the then-new Lehigh Valley Mall. "Hamilton Street has been a mecca for shopping for the whole of eastern Pennsylvania for many years, and it will stay that way." By his role in numerous civic groups and the fact that he lives downtown, Leh has shown that his commitment to Allentown is real.

All of which makes this closing of the downtown Leh's store more ironic. It is a city landmark, reduced now -- at least in the eyes of some county officials -- to be valued primarily for its parking deck.

Who will buy all that space? Will it become a flea market or maybe a new prison annex when the new one is full? And what do its 250 employees, and the old ladies, do now?